


Hopeless and Helpless

by Thousand_Ribbons (Meridians_of_Madness)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Betrayal, Bondage, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Consensual Non-Consent, Dark Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fingering, Knifeplay, M/M, Muteness, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Roleplay, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Verbal Humiliation, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22860349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridians_of_Madness/pseuds/Thousand_Ribbons
Summary: Crowley finds some props and decides that he'd like to be ravished by a Heavenly soldier. Aziraphale obliges.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 406
Collections: IK Shenanigans





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamsofspike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Okay. So Chapter One is happy fluffy consensual non-consent.
> 
> -Chapter Two is an alternate ending where things go really badly and Aziraphale is a Real Bastard and not just playing one on TV. Like, seriously (points up at tags) he's a monster, and not the fun kind.
> 
> -Read with care and caution!
> 
> -No, I don't know what happened either.

The moment Crowley found the shackles in a dusty box under a stack of exceedingly dully religious pamphlets, it was a foregone conclusion that he would want to wear them.

“Oh, _angel,”_ he breathed. “What in the name of Someone are you doing with celestially-warded chains?”

Aziraphale blinked, putting down the grimoires (“claptrap, but signed!”) to venture over and peer into the box.

The chains were pretty things. The links were almost delicate, binding together a pair of silvery cuffs that he thought would fit just right around his wrists. If they were of human make, he'd be able to tear them apart with a moment of effort, but from the way the hair at the back of his neck raised at the very sight of them, he could tell that they were something else.

“Oh _those,”_ Aziraphale said, making a face. “I've had them since the 1800s. Gabriel rather insisted.”

“Gabriel?”

“Yes. It was right after that business in 1812, you remember.”

Aziraphale mimed a stabbing motion, and Crowley huffed with irritation.

“Wasn't me, even Hell doesn't think that one was me.”

“Well, Heaven got the idea it was, and so they wanted me to be prepared.”

Crowley cautiously touched the chains, found them warm and not burning. They weren't blessed, but from the warning shivers he got along his spine, he could tell that they were strong. They would hold him until someone let him out again, and once they were on...

“I wouldn't really be the Demon Crowley anymore with these darlings on,” he said, fascinated. “Not even a little...”

“You would be unable to access your powers at all,” Aziraphale said. “Not quite human, but close.”

He frowned, taking the chains out of their box. Something about the way they looked dangling from Aziraphale's hand made Crowley's mouth water, and he took a step forward eagerly.

“Oh, I really ought not have them around,” Aziraphale said fussily. “Perhaps we can have them melted down, or I can send them back...”

“Angel, the _possibilities.”_

“Eh?”

Crowley reached for an open shackle, and without looking at Aziraphale, he snapped it around his own right wrist. Immediately, he could feel his powers ebb, drawing back beyond his reach like a fast-retreating tide. His first instinct was to lunge after them, to do whatever it took to make sure that he was not left helpless, bust instead he raised his eyes to Aziraphale, aware of how hungry he must look and how needy.

“Crowley!”

“I would be _helpless_ ,” he said, his tone honey. “I would be all yours until you chose to let me go. No choice at all, not for a poor demon who had fallen all unwary into the hands of a conquering angel.”

“Crowley... do you understand that you truly would be powerless?” asked Aziraphale. “It might be more intense than you anticipated, my own.”

“I can do intense,” Crowley said. “The only question, angel, is if you _want_ it.”

A shiver, imperceptible to anyone watching, but as good as an earthquake to Crowley, went through Aziraphale. For a moment, the angel only stood with his head slightly bowed.

“I can hear that, you know,” he said, and Crowley tilted his head, feigning an innocence he had never had and didn't want.

“Hear what, angel?”

“You're using the voice. Your tempting voice. I know what that means.”

“What?”

Crowley gasped in real surprise when Aziraphale looked up to meet his gaze and the second shackle snapped with unerring accuracy around his left wrist. The circuit was complete, and he almost went to his knees, his powers pulling back to some place far beyond his reach, so distant that they might not have existed at all. He might never have been a demon, only a poor deluded human who thought he was one, as susceptible to the tears and dust and mud and blood as any other Son of Adam.

Aziraphale, however, was still very much an angel, and his hands closed over the shackles, dragging Crowley up close to him, close enough that even with his poor dulled senses he could feel the prickle of divine power that radiated from Aziraphale like static.

“It means,” Aziraphale said softly, “that you want this very much.”

Crowley couldn't help moaning at the suddenly alien quality of Aziraphale in that moment, of how distant and haughty the angel seemed. Oh, _yes_...

“My goodness,” Aziraphale said in that slightly dead, bored voice that Crowley associated with Heavenly soldiers. “One would almost think that you wanted to get caught.”

Crowley sucked his breath in hard, trying to jerk back from the angel, but Aziraphale's fist was wrapped around the center of the chain, and he could only pull back a very short distance before he was brought to up short.

“No,” he whispered. “No, no, please.”

“Liar,” said Aziraphale almost pleasantly. “Let's not have any more lies from you.”

Crowley started to answer him, but choked on his words. He tried again, choked harder, and a tide of helplessness washed over him. Aziraphale had taken his voice, and he stared at the angel with a mixture of horror and sheer arousal.

“That's better,” Aziraphale said, and with his free hand, he reached out momentarily to tangle his fingers with Crowley's own. Two squeezes, checking in, and Crowley couldn't return them fast enough. If this stopped before he had come at least once, he thought he was going to cry.

Turning, Aziraphale strode up the dark stairs at the rear of the bookshop to the living quarters above. Aziraphale kept a tight grasp on the chain that bound Crowley's hands, and he paid no attention at all to the way that Crowley had to stumble to keep up with him, almost falling into the bedroom that they shared.

 _It's not our bedroom right now,_ Crowley thought eagerly. It was perhaps some out of the way barracks in a Heavenly protectorate, or a quiet room where an angel was quartered in anticipation for a mission...

“Do you know why I shut you up, demon?” asked Aziraphale in that same bored tone.

Crowley considered his options for a moment -spitting defiance, wary intelligence officer, terrified out of his wits- and shook his head, his eyes wide and pleading.

“It's because I don't want hear whatever pathetic things you are going to say to get out of what comes next. I don't want to hear you beg. I don't want to hear you whine. I don't want to listen to you sob because you can't take my cock.”

In the midst of the surge of helpless arousal he got from hearing Aziraphale talk like that, Crowley felt a stab of pride.

 _Time was he'd stammer and blush straight through that,_ he thought, pleased. _I've done very well for myself indeed._

Aziraphale's eyes were on him though, and he swallowed hard, letting the helplessness overtake him again, allowing fear into his eyes. Aziraphale smiled thinly.

“You look like a tempter to me,” Aziraphale said, pretending to study him. “Did you escape from some duke or such? Fragile little thing like you shouldn't be on a battlefield.”

Crowley shook his head, and moaned silently as Aziraphale suddenly dragged him up against his body by the chain, lifting it so that Crowley's wrists were hung over his head and he was pressed chest to chest with Aziraphale. It was like fetching up against a rock clad in wool and cotton, and oh fuck, but he was already hard.

“I suppose someone will pay to get you back, pretty as you are, but as well-used as I'm sure you have been, what's one more rape?”

Crowley absolutely bucked against Aziraphale at that, feeling that sweet sinking in the middle of his chest, letting Aziraphale's disdainful words open him up. He could already feel tears at the corners of his eyes, and without the ability to whine or whimper, it was all so much more intense.

“Or perhaps it won't be a rape at all,” Aziraphale murmured into Crowley's ear. _“Slut.”_

Crowley tried to pull back from Aziraphale, but instead the angel swung him around by the chain, more than strong enough to throw him face-first to the unmade bed. For a moment, the absolutely familiarity of the sheets and the blankets intruded on the fantasy, and then it was gone again when he felt something cold and sharp slide under his chin as the angel came to kneel beside him.

“Hold very still, pretty,” murmured Aziraphale. “You won't like what happens if you don't.”

Crowley buried his face in his hands as the blade of Aziraphale's sharp little penknife traveled a circuit around his throat to the back of his neck, tickling the hair there for a moment before tugging on the collar of his shirt.

“You know what's coming next, don't you, demon?” asked Aziraphale. “You know what I'm going to do.”

Crowley gave a single anguished nod, and was rewarded with Aziraphale's thick fingers coming down to ruffle his hair.

“Good. I shouldn't like to frighten you,” came the mocking response.

Crowley choked slightly as Aziraphale's free hand grabbed his collar, giving him enough tension to slice Crowley's shirt straight down the back. A few times, the blade grazed his skin hard enough to nick it, and Crowley groaned because as skilled as Aziraphale was with a blade, it was no accident.

Sometimes Aziraphale took hours cutting off his clothes, letting the blade just barely kiss his skin, but apparently this version of his beloved was in no mood. Instead, he wielded the blade with workmanlike efficiency, down Crowley's sleeves and the legs of his trousers until he was lying in the rags of his own clothes. His shoes and socks were wrenched off and hit the floor with a thump, and then he was naked on his belly, the angel behind him, and his gaze as heavy as bricks on Crowley's back.

Crowley uttered a soundless gasp as Aziraphale's warm hand cupped the back of his neck and ran down his spine before settling on his rear. He had never felt quite so small, like a toy that Aziraphale could roll and tumble as he pleased. He tried to whine when Aziraphale spread his cheeks apart, and earned a sharp smack to the rear for his trouble.

“Don't play innocent with me, demon. I can imagine how many people you've had in this hole. You must have learned to welcome them eventually.”

Crowley shook at the picture Aziraphale was painting, and he leaned into it. He could imagine being some duke's pet, unwise enough to go wandering too close to Heaven's territory, completely unprepared for the reality of Heaven's vicious soldiers...

He was so wrapped up in it that he jumped when Aziraphale put his knife, folded safely now, in Crowley's hand. Flat on his belly, his shackled arms had ended up stretched over his head, his hands dangled over the floor.

“Hold that for me,” Aziraphale said carelessly. “You won't like what happens if you drop it.”

He wouldn't. The clatter of the knife on the floor would end the game at once. Crowley wrapped the small knife firmly in his fist, making Aziraphale chuckle. He sounded a little more like himself for a moment, and then Heaven's soldier was back.

“What a fine lad you are. I imagine your owner will be very pleased to get you back, if I don't decide that I simply must keep you.”

He started to sneak a glance back at Aziraphale, but the angel caught him, pushing his head own into the blankets.

“No. Stay as you are. I have what I need.”

Crowley squirmed at that, and then he drew a hard breath as Aziraphale came to kneel between his spread legs, spreading them even wider. When he imagined himself as Aziraphale must see him, pale and splayed out, hips already rocking slightly against the mattress, he blushed red at the humiliation, and that was before Aziraphale spread him open again, tracing a slicked finger over his hole. He writhed at even that light touch, almost unbearably sensitive, and Aziraphale made a displeased sound.

“Don't pretend that you're some innocent thing who doesn't deserve this. I know your kind, demon. I know how hungry you are for it. Pretending you don't like it won't make me go easier on you.”

Despite his cruel words, Aziraphale was gentle as he opened Crowley up. There was fantasy and then there was a kind of reality that was reserved for the times when Crowley wanted to be absolutely ripped to pieces, teetering on the verge of shock and half-convinced that Aziraphale wanted his pain more than anything else. They didn't do that one without a lot of talking first, so today, Aziraphale was gentle, his fingers twisting and retreating, coming back with more lube. His touch was firm enough that it wasn't totally inconceivable that it was a careless soldier behind him and not his beloved husband, and by the time he pulled back, Crowley was a wreck, sweating and shaking and dripping on the sheets.

“There,” Aziraphale said with satisfaction. “That will serve, and if it won't, you'll simply have to bear it.”

With no more warning than that, Aziraphale snapped his clothes away, and then his naked weight was coming down on Crowley's back, his mouth on Crowley's shoulder even as his cock pressed against his hole. For a moment, there was nothing but a blunt pressure, and then Crowley felt Aziraphale's knuckles press hard against his rear as the angel took his cock in hand and guided it in.

Crowley groaned silently at the invasion, the press sleek and smooth with just the perfect amount of stretch. It was good, but instead he focused on the violation, the idea that he didn't really want this, and that the weight that was pressing him flat to the bed was horrifying instead of pleasurable.

“Oh there you are,” breathed Aziraphale. “There you are, opening for me like that. What a perfect whore you are, my love...”

Crowley tensed helplessly as Aziraphale began to thrust into him, long deep strokes that took his breath away. The real helplessness of his position sank into his bones like cold water. He couldn't reach for his powers, he couldn't lever himself up and away like he might have been able to do if he were on his hands and knees, He felt so damnably small under the angel's weight, fucked open with the angel's cock pounding into him.

“Maybe I will keep you after all,” Aziraphale whispered hotly in his ear. “I'll keep you like this, chained and spread on my bed. Maybe if I want a favor from my friends, I'll let them come in here and have you, would you like that, demon? You would be so very popular, wouldn't you, with your looks and those pretty eyes and this pretty ass. I bet they would _beg_ for some time with you.”

Crowley felt as if he were stretched to the very edges of his skin. It was too much, too hard, too perfect, and his cock dragged against the sheets and his belly. He clutched the knife in his hand and let Aziraphale's thrusts rock him against the mattress, let Aziraphale's words twist in his head until he really was nothing but a tempter whore, caught behind enemy lines and suffering the terrible consequences of it.

He was helpless, he was getting fucked open, he was going to get traded to the principality's friends for favors, and _fuck-fuck-fuck_ , but he was coming. Aziraphale lifted the muting as he came, and his sharp cry rang in the room, his entire body stiff and the pleasure taking him with as little mercy as Aziraphale had had.

Aziraphale hissed as he came as well, thrusting so deeply into Crowley that he shoved him forward a few inches on his face. Crowley groaned, suddenly more sensitive than he had been before, and Aziraphale kissed the back of his neck with a tenderness that told him better than anything else that the game was done.

Crowley made a displeased sound as Aziraphale pulled away, and he put a hand over Aziraphale's as the angel started to snap to clean him up.

“Leave it,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Just for a bit. I want to keep luxuriating in my role as a principality's fuckslut for a bit.”

“Oh, Crowley, really,” Aziraphale said with a slight blush, and the illusion was well and truly ruined as Crowley laughed at him, laying the penknife aside and stretching out his hand.

“You're going to get all high and mighty about some naughty language after what we've just done, angel?”

“Well I wasn't _swearing_.”

“No, just offering to share me with your mates for candy and cigarettes.”

“I was _not_ \- you know, just come here.”

Crowley allowed himself to be smugly gathered into Aziraphale's arms, sodden exhausted little mess that he was, and he nuzzled Aziraphale's cheek, mutely holding up his hands. Aziraphale removed the shackles with a touch, and Crowley made a pleased sound as his powers rushed back. Demon again, and so very in love with his angel.

“Would you really have shared me with your soldier friends?”

“Now, Crowley, you know very well I did not have friends.”

“Angel...”

“No,” Aziraphale said, pulling Crowley more firmly to him. “Absolutely not. And I wouldn't have given you back to whatever duke owned you, either.”

“What would you have done?” Crowley asked with interest.

“Fallen dreadfully in love with you, I expect,” Aziraphale said, kissing the top of his head. “I'm afraid I'm not terribly good at being the terrifying soldier of your dreams, my love.”

“That's fine,” said Crowley, whose newly-returned powers were coursing through his body in the most intriguing way. “You'd probably forget to shackle me some time or another.”

“I would?”

“Yep. And then...”

Crowley pushed Aziraphale down on the bed, marveling at how large the angel's eyes were, how soft his mouth.

“And then... I teach you that what goes around comes around,” Crowley said, and he leaned down to kiss Aziraphale viciously.


	2. Alternate Ending- Full of Unwanted Touching and Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The original story is all Happy-Fun-Times-Decent-Consent. This is Crowley makes a big mistake regarding who he lets put shackles on him and has a Really Bad (non-consensual, fingering, angst, victim blaming, Dark!Aziraphale) Time.
> 
> -Filled for the kink meme prompt [here](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/3161.html?thread=2136409#cmt2136409)
> 
> -I wrote this fic and less than 12 hours later, someone requested the non-con version on the meme. 
> 
> _I try so hard to be good! SO HARD! "No, Meridians, get your dumpling ass back in the non-con Pit where it belongs!"

Crowley allowed himself to be smugly gathered into Aziraphale's arms, sodden exhausted little mess that he was, and he nuzzled Aziraphale's cheek, mutely holding up his hands.

And kept holding them up.

He held them up for so long that he finally opened up his eyes to see Aziraphale watching him with a slight smile on his face, and the moment their eyes met, Aziraphale pushed his hands down so they settled in his lap.

“Oh not yet, darling, surely? Weren't you saying something about wanting to luxuriate in... how did you put it, _being a principality's fuckslut?”_

This time there was no blush or stammer in the angel's voice, and Crowley tried to muster up a smile at the joke.

“Ha, look at you, you managed to say fuckslut without blushing. Well done, angel. Get these chains off me, and we'll go celebrate.”

“I was thinking of staying in tonight,” Aziraphale said, idly running his hand up Crowley's bare thigh. “Chinese, or oh, there's a new Vietnamese place just round the block. I've been meaning to try them. Would you eat if I ordered?”

Crowley just barely kept himself from petulantly shaking his shackles. A hollow was opening up in his belly at the idea that with the shackles on, that was almost all he could do.

“I might,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “But first you'd have to _take the shackles off.”_

“I wouldn't have to,” said Aziraphale reasonably. “You could eat like that. You could do many things like that.”

“Like pull a Princess Leia and strangle you to death?” asked Crowley who knew he was growing less funny by the moment. “Come _on,_ angel.”

“Not with those chains, you couldn't. Remember, I'm celestial. They can't hurt _me.”_

“I _know_ , just... Angel. Aziraphale. This isn't funny anymore.”

“Honestly, Crowley, neither is you _snapping a pair of celestial shackles on your own wrist.”_

Crowley stared as Aziraphale's hand crept to the center of the chain connecting the shackles and tightened around them. He felt as if the floor was too far away, as if all the air had gone out of the room. Aziraphale was still breathing easily- why couldn't he?

“It really isn't,” Aziraphale said with a frown. He wasn't even looking at Crowley anymore. “There are so many things that could go wrong, and just look at how helpless you are.”

On the final word, Crowley cried out in panic as he was thrown to the bed again in the exact same position he had been in for their little bit of fun. Now though, he wasn't hard at all, and as Aziraphale came to crouch over him like some great bloody gargoyle, he could feel the very real panic that he had only been pretending earlier.

“Aziraphale. Aziraphale, all right, lesson learned! Quit! Take these blasted things off!”

“Lesson learned? You?” Aziraphale snorted. “I hardly think so. Tell me, Crowley, did you think we were just going to keep these around for a bit of sport? Stash them right next to the riding crop and the blindfold?”

Crowley started to respond, but Aziraphale's hand tangled in his hair, pushing his face down.

“Do you _truly_ think it is such a good idea to keep things that make you so very _hopeless_ in the house?”

“No!” Crowley cried. It came out stuttered by a fear that was beginning to choke him. He wanted to blame the shackles for clouding his mind, but in his heart, he knew it wasn't them. It was love that didn't understand fear, and fear that understood better than love.

“Look at how pretty you are, my own,” Aziraphale said, leaning down to put his mouth next to Crowley's ear. “Who could resist you when you were so helpless? Who could ever?”

Aziraphale's hand gentled in his hair, running down his back to his rear and then opening him again. He had never gotten cleaned up, and after what Aziraphale had done before, he was still open. Sloppy. Used. It was real, this time.

Crowley gagged on nothing when Aziraphale slid a finger inside him, pumping it a few times. There was no pain, but he didn't _want_ it there, didn't want this, please, didn't want this _at all._

“I could leave you like this,” Aziraphale mused. “You're lovely all opened up. I could fuck you again. I could bring some friends over, let them crawl on top of you, spend inside that sweet little hole of yours and-”

Crowley sobbed, the tears coming like a flood, and his entire body shook with the pain of it, terror, betrayal, the realization that with those shackles on, he was _fucked,_ utterly and completely.

Aziraphale waited what felt like an eternity, what was likely only a count to twenty, and then with a touch, the shackles were off, clattering to the ground like some belated safety gesture that Crowley was now beginning to realize wouldn't have meant a thing.

Crowley tried to scramble off the bed, but then Aziraphale was pulling him firmly into his arms, settling him into his lap again.

“There now, darling,” he said, one strong hand cupping the back of Crowley's head and holding him close. “Do you see what a foolish thing that was? Do you see how very easy it would have been for someone to take advantage?”

Crowley stuttered over his words, finally reining in the sobs long enough to speak

“Not you,” he protested. “You're not supposed to take advantage. You're mine, I'm yours, you can't, you _mustn't.”_

He waited for Aziraphale to catch his sobs, to pull him close and fall over himself apologizing. He would have forgiven the angel. He had forgiven the angel time after time, and he was ready to do it again.

“Oh, darling, don't be so very sensitive,” Aziraphale said. “It was only a joke.”

Crowley went still, and Aziraphale, apparently thinking he had won the argument, continued stroking Crowley's hair, murmuring soft sweet things to him.

Crowley's mind raced.

_It was only a joke_ belonged squarely to Hell, and when he looked up at Aziraphale as the angel chattered away, he wondered what else did as well.


End file.
